An Unscientific Mood
by Psyched
Summary: Grissom and Sara at the movies.


**A/N**:  These characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and many other people who are making a profit from them.  I don't happen to be one of them.  No copyright infringement is intended.  In fact, AZ and company should be pleased, as imitation is the highest form of flattery.

This was written in response to a challenge on the Playing With Fire forum.  The task was to write about Grissom and Sara's first date, to a movie, during which they eat popcorn and at least one of the Geeks is to come into contact with something sticky typically found on movie theater floors or seats.

Thanks to Playing With Fire for hosting this challenge and for being such a great place to feel the GeekLove.

Special thanks to Margaret, for pulling double beta duty on this one.

~*~*~

Tossing a file on his desk, Sara declared to her boss, "Signed, sealed, and delivered."

Grissom looked from his own stack of paperwork to the manila folder that landed to his right.  Casting a glance at his CSI, he asked, "How much did you get done?"

"All of it.  Someone can let the criminal element of Clark County know that we're up to date on our paperwork, and they can get back to giving us something to do."  It had been an unusually uneventful few days, and Sara was anxious to dig her heels into a juicy crime scene.  There was nothing more mind-numbing to her than spending endless hours writing reports.

"Still ten minutes left on shift, maybe something will come in for you," Grissom joked.

"Hell, I'd be happy with a trick-roll right about now.  This has got to be some kind of record, three days in a row I'm out of here on time."

"Poor Sara."

She grinned at his ersatz sympathy.  "I'll be in the break room if anything comes up."  She turned to leave and made it as far as the door before she remembered something she wanted to ask him.  "Oh, hey, I almost forgot.  I was thinking of taking in a movie this afternoon.  One of the theaters in Henderson is showing classic sci-fi movies all month, and today's feature is _The Fly.  I was wondering if you would recommend it or not."_

"The 1958 version?"  Sara nodded.  "Definitely.  I think you'll enjoy it."  

"Great, thanks."  She started backing slowly toward the door.  "I'll see you next shift, then."

"Hey Sara?"  She paused, full of hope, and waited for him to speak.  "How'd you know I'd seen the movie?"

"All I know about the plot is that some scientist conducts an experiment with a fly and it goes wrong.  I figured it was exactly the kind of movie an entomologist who loves to perform his own experiments would be likely to see."

He smiled.  "Good thinking."

The Sara Smile brightened her entire face.  "Plus I noticed you owned the movie."

Mildly surprised, he noted, "You've only been to my place twice."

"I'm a trained observer, Grissom."  When he made no reply to that, she said good-bye once again and left.

Grissom was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that Sara did not ask him to join her.  When she mentioned she was taking in a movie, he was certain that would be her question.  Alarm bells sounded in his head, as he felt no better equipped to deal with her invitation today than he had when she asked him to dinner a few months ago.

And yet when no offer was forthcoming, he found it hurt.  Almost physically.  He felt a tug in his heart similar to the one he experienced when Philip Gerard nonchalantly announced Sara's relationship with Hank.  As if he had lost something he never knew he had.  

Driving home a half-hour later, Grissom continued to mull over the peculiar feeling that had not left since his brief chat with Sara.  He believed he had successfully identified it as jealousy.  If Sara did not want to go to a movie with him, _who_ was she going with?   He chided himself for being so petty.  If he was not willing or able to date Sara, why should he begrudge her the opportunity to go out with someone else?

_Because after I turned down her dinner invitation, she implied that I still had time.  "You know, by the time you figure it out, you really could be too late," she said.  Doesn't that mean it's not too late yet?_

_It meant it wasn't too late** then**, you fool.  But that was quite a while ago.  Did you really think she was going to wait forever?_

_You'd think she would have told me when my time had run out, don't you?_

_What, like she owes you anything?  Get a grip, old man.  You waited too long; you're too late, and Sara has moved on without you._

"Damn," he said aloud.  Grissom was now deeply disturbed.  Pulling into his driveway, he exited the car and slammed the door behind him.  He felt tremendously conflicted, and did not care for it one bit.  He did not like not knowing if he had really blown his last chance with Sara, and hated even more the fact that he still would not know what to do with that chance if it was offered to him again.

As he opened his front door, tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, and kicked his shoes off, Grissom could feel a migraine coming on.  Stretching out on his couch, he decided to try to look at the evidence objectively.  First, he admitted that he was attracted to Sara, and in an ideal world, he would have taken her up on her offer for dinner.  But he had not, in part because he had been in the process of making a decision about his surgery, and he believed he could not devote his energy to both Sara and potentially impending deafness at the same time.  And if he were to be brutally honest with himself, he would acknowledge that he was frightened that if he had let Sara further into his life and the surgery had failed, she would leave him.

Next piece of evidence:  Sara was interested in him as well.  Otherwise she would not have asked him out.  

Third, he did not have an indefinite amount of time in which to make his intentions, whatever they happened to be, known to Sara.  She had warned him that if he ever did figure it out, he might be too late.  

Fourth, Sara was going to a movie today and Grissom was not invited.  This begged the question of who, if anyone, she was going with.  If she was going with a date, this obviously indicated that Grissom's time was up.  If she was going alone, perhaps he still had a chance.

But even if she was going alone, even if he still had time to figure out what to do about "this," he _hadn't_.  And he really was no closer than he had been a few months ago.  _And you just thought yourself in a complete circle, because this is where you began, old man._

One thing was becoming clear, though:  it was time for Gil Grissom to make a decision regarding his "relationship" with Sara.  Maybe what he needed to do first was find out if Sara was actually seeing someone else.  At least that way he would know if he should bother making a decision; perhaps Sara had already made it for him.

~*~*~

Sara Sidle probably had the cleanest refrigerator in all of Las Vegas.  Hell, maybe in all the Southwest.  She could not even begin to count the number of times she had cleaned it since Grissom told her he wouldn't go out to dinner with her, since he acknowledged he did not know what to do about whatever was between them.  

When Sara was frustrated at work, she shut the world out and dug into her case even further.  When she was frustrated at home, she played the stereo as loud as she could stand it and cleaned the kitchen.  And since she rarely cooked, and by extension did not often use the stove or oven, most of her efforts were focused on the fridge.   

She knew it would be a long-shot, hoping that Grissom would pick up on her hint and suggest they go to the movie together.  It's not like she was asking for a lot, though, Sara mused as she scrubbed out the vegetable drawer.  She hardly expected him to ask her on a _date, but thought he might be prompted to invite himself along, or at least show some interest in attending with her.  She knew one thing with certainty, however.  She was not about to ask Grissom out again.  If anything was going to happen between them, _he_ would have to be the one to initiate it.  Of course, Sara wasn't above giving him a little shove in the right direction._

"Yes I Am" blasted from the speakers at such a volume that Sara did not immediately hear her phone ring.  Picking it up off the counter as she scooted out of the kitchen and toward the stereo, she pushed the Talk button and practically shouted into the handset, "Hold on a sec."  Turning down the music, she spoke into the phone again.  "Hello?  Sorry about that."

"What the hell was that?"

"Grissom?"  Sara's heart raced a little at the thought that maybe the man could take a hint after all.  

"Yeah.  What was that?"

"Music.  Melissa Etheridge, to be exact."

"Oh."

Waiting for Grissom to offer the reason for his call, Sara tossed herself down on her couch.  When the line remained silent, she prodded.  "Gris, did you need something?" 

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you call?"

"Oh, right.  Sorry.  I guess Melissa Etheridge threw me off a little."

"Oh."  _Get to the point, Grissom!_

"Um, anyway, I called about the movie."

She tried to keep her voice neutral.  "What about it?"

"Did you know it was a murder mystery, too?"

She crossed her fingers.  "Really?  No, I didn't know that."

"Well, not too big a mystery actually, since we see the murderer leaving the scene of the crime, as does a witness.  And then of course, the murderess calls her brother-in-law and confesses to the crime -"

"Grissom!"  She cut him off on a laugh.  "You're going to ruin it for me."

"Oh, sorry.  But really, I didn't ruin anything.  The rest of the story really revolves around _why she killed him."_

Pacing around his living room, Grissom mentally berated himself for acting like a teenager about to ask someone to their first boy-girl dance.  He had finally worked up the courage to ask Sara if she was going to the movie alone, and he was fumbling it mightily.

"So anyway…uh…I was wondering if whoever you're going with has ever seen the movie before?"

 "As a matter of fact, I'm going alone.  Why do you ask?"

"Well, I thought that maybe…that you might like…to have someone with you…who has seen it."  If he had not been afraid she would hear it, Grissom would have let out a huge sigh of relief to have finally gotten the words out.

"Why?  Is the plot that hard to follow?  Or is it like 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' and you have to know what to do and say in response to the film?"  She knew it was neither, but asked the question earnestly.  Sara realized it was risky, but she did not want to settle for this beating around the bush from him.   

This was not going the way he had planned.  _Maybe I should just forget about it_.  But then he recalled the train of thought that had ultimately sparked his decision to call Sara and ask if he could join her at the movie.  Ironically, it was the film's plot that had inspired him.

_The Fly_ told the tale of scientist André Delambre, who created what he called a "disintegrator-integrator," a machine that could transmit matter from one location to another.  Dr. Delambre was known to remain in his lab for days on end working on his experiments, leaving his wife and young son with a part-time husband and father.  It was Delambre's preoccupation with his work that ultimately led to his gruesome demise.  

In the end, Delambre sacrificed his personal life for his professional obsession, and Grissom did not wish to follow suit.  It may have taken him a couple of years, but Gil Grissom was about to take Catherine's advice and lift his head up from the microscope.

"No, Sara, it's nothing like that.  I just wondered if I could accompany you to the movie."

"Accompany me?  You mean like be my escort?  Kind of an antiquated idea, isn't it, Gris?"

He could hear the smile in her voice and knew she was teasing him.  He was tempted to respond in kind, but wanted to be serious, to demonstrate to Sara how important this was to him.  To them.

"Sara, I'm asking you to go to the movies with me.  As a date."  When there was no response, he continued, almost apologetically, "I know it's not dinner, but - "

"But it's a start," she completed for him.  "I'd love to, Grissom."

~*~*~

The movie was to start at 3:20.  It would only take about 20 minutes to drive from Sara's place to the theater, but Grissom insisted on picking her up at 2:30.  "I wouldn't want to be too late," he had remarked, and Sara had wondered if his choice of words was deliberate.

Sara continued to ponder this as she looked herself over in the full-length mirror attached to her closet door.  She wore a maroon V-neck tank top, black jeans, and black sandals.  Her hair was down and dried straight, save the curl at her shoulders.  The make-up was minimal, the way she preferred it.

At precisely 2:30 the doorbell rang.  Opening the door to him, Sara could not help but give Grissom the once-over.  He too wore jeans, but in a traditional denim color.  They matched the denim jacket he had on over what Sara hoped was a short-sleeved button down shirt.  She was still momentarily taken aback by the beard that he had sported since he came back from vacation a few months ago.  

Walking beside him down the stairs outside her apartment, Sara cast an obvious glance in his direction.  "Wow Gris, I don't think I've ever seen you in jeans before."  She gave him an appreciative grin.

"Not too casual, I hope."  

"Not at all.  It's a good look on you, especially with the beard.  Very rugged."

"You know, now that I think about it, you're the only person in the lab who hasn't expressed an opinion about my beard." 

"Am I?"  She knew he was angling for her thoughts on the matter.  But like when he was trying to ask her out earlier, she decided that he would have to be more direct before she would give him what he wanted.

They were both quiet until they reached his car.  Grissom had opened the door for Sara, and she slid past him into the vehicle.  He leaned in slightly, with his right hand on the door, and left arm on the roof.  "Does that mean you don't like it?"

"Not at all.  Actually…I'm undecided."

"Undecided?  You can't be undecided.  Either you like it or you don't."

"Now I know why you insisted on picking me up so early," Sara joked.  "We could stay here all afternoon and discuss this, or you could get in and we can talk on the way."

Grissom continued to stare at Sara for a few more moments before shrugging and closing her door.  She watched him walk in front of the car to the driver's side, shaking his head the entire way.  The truth of the matter was she did not _love_ the beard, but she did not mind it either.  She supposed she could eventually get used to it, that one day the Grissom with facial hair might correspond to the Grissom that resided in her mind's eye.  But until then, she remained firmly on the fence. 

Once Grissom was safely tucked behind the steering wheel and they had pulled away from the curb, Sara continued the conversation.  "Gris, you know it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.  What do _you think of your beard?"_

Grissom originally grew the beard because the side of his face was too sore to shave for nearly a week after his surgery.  But he was not about to tell Sara that.  So he offered a half-truth.  "I think it makes me look somewhat distinguished."

Turning in her seat to get a better look at him, Sara nodded, "I can see that.  But then I thought you looked pretty distinguished without the beard as well."  Sara tried a small smile, unsure how he would take the compliment.

Grissom glanced at her briefly before simply saying, "Thank you."

Her smile widened in response.

They drove the rest of the way to the theater, parked, bought tickets, and found seats in relative silence.  Every now and again, Grissom would break the quiet with a tidbit about the movie.  

"Did you know that James Clavell, who wrote the screenplay for _The Fly_, also wrote the script for _To Sir with Love_?"

"Oh, really?  That was a great movie.  The guy certainly seems to have written from one end of the spectrum to the other…wait a minute, did you say James Clavell?  As in the author of _Shogun?"_

"One and the same."

"He really _was_ eclectic."

"He seems to have followed Roland Barthes' work philosophy."

"Roland Barthes?"

"A twentieth century French painter, writer, and social theorist.  'I have tried to be as eclectic as I possibly can with my professional life, and so far it's been pretty fun.'"

Sara looked at Grissom with no response.  She could point out how that attitude seemed to contrast with their own lives, but decided that was not the way she wanted the discussion to go.  At any rate, the fact that they were about to see a movie, _together_, was progress for both of them, she mused.

At Sara's expression, which Grissom could not for the life of him read, he feared that he had brought the conversation to a grinding halt.  Grappling for something else to say, the best he could come up with was, "Popcorn?"

"Sounds good.  Extra butter?"

He stood up and paused in the aisle to look at her with raised eyebrows.  "Ms. Health-Conscious Vegetarian wants extra butter on her popcorn?"

"That's right.  No animals are harmed in the making of synthetic butter-flavored topping.  Besides, I didn't give up meat for the health benefits, at least not initially."

Grissom had the grace to wince, remembering the last time this subject had come up.  "If it bothered you so much to observe the pig that night, why did you stay?"

"Because you were there," she replied plainly, meeting his gaze.  

Now it was Grissom's turn to be struck mute.  The moment did not call for a witty response, so he did not offer one.  Yet he could not ignore the significance of what Sara just said.

He had no idea how long they remained that way, eyes locked, before Sara broke the spell.  

"So how about that popcorn?" she suggested with a grin.

"Sure.  Extra synthetic butter-flavored topping, coming right up."

As Sara settled further back into her seat, she realized that her comment and Grissom's reaction mirrored another exchange between them, one that was indelibly marked on her soul.  Their roles had been reversed then, with Grissom stating a simple truth and Sara being stunned into silence.  

_Since when are you interested in beauty?  _

_Since I met you._

~*~*~

Grissom returned a few minutes later with a tub of popcorn, two bottles of water, and a handful of napkins.  The theater lights dimmed just as he took his seat.  It wasn't long after the first preview began that Sara heard him muttering under his breath.

"What is it?"

Handing the popcorn to Sara, he took off his jacket and examined the sleeve.  On it was a huge wad of gum, still partially attached to the armrest to his right, which he had just moments before put down to hold his water.  Using the napkins, he managed to remove the gum from the armrest, but only partially from the sleeve.  

"Terrific," he complained.

Taking the offending item from him, Sara inspected it and advised him, "When you get home, stick the jacket in the freezer for about 30 minutes then rub it off with a hard brush."

"Does that really work?"

"Yeah.  In fact, it works best on tougher fabrics, so it's a good thing you're wearing denim."  Placing his jacket on the seat adjacent to her own, Sara was secretly pleased that Grissom was forced to remove the covering; as she had hoped, his shirt was short-sleeved, and she furtively admired the view as the previews droned on.

Once the theater was darkened further for the feature, Sara dug into the popcorn.  The tub remained on her lap, and she tilted it toward Grissom so he would have easy access.  As the movie played, their hands occasionally bumped either in or over the container since neither took their eyes off the screen to glance down at what they were doing.  The first time, both mumbled a quick apology.  However, no comments were made after subsequent touches.

Halfway through the film, Sara placed the empty popcorn tub on the floor and repositioned her right arm so that her elbow was leaning on the back portion of the armrest.  Grissom's was toward the front.

On the screen, André's wife Helène was becoming amorous and André responded, "_You're in an unscientific mood_."

Sara chuckled and whispered to Grissom, "So that's what they called it back then."

"Apparently only if you were a brilliant scientist."  His tone was equally amused.

When Grissom removed his elbow from the armrest several minutes later to unscrew his bottle of water, Sara took the opportunity to stretch her arm along the length of it.  She was disappointed, but not surprised, when he made no move to return his arm to the divider.

Another few minutes later, Sara felt Grissom's hand on hers, seeking her attention.  When she turned to look at him, he asked, "Do you want anything else from the concession stand?"

"No, thanks."  She faced the screen again and tried to act nonchalant about the fact that Grissom did not remove his hand.  It only took about 30 seconds before her body followed through on what her brain was screaming for her to do.  Without taking her eyes from the film, Sara turn her hand over, still keeping it under Grissom's.  She spread her fingers slightly and his slid gently between them.  

"_You're a strange man, André.  So precise and practical, and yet so…I don't quite know how to put it._"  

Sara could not help but smile at the comment made by Helène.  That pretty much described the way she felt about Gil Grissom, the man with whom she had been holding hands for the past ten minutes.  Unfortunately, having her arm between Grissom's and the hard surface of the armrest was causing a distracting tingling sensation.  She needed to switch positions but was afraid that any movement would result in Grissom disengaging from her.  The numbness developing in her hand ultimately decided for her.  Trying to be as casual as possible, Sara kept hold of Grissom's hand as she lifted their arms and then started to raise the barrier into its upright position between the seatbacks.

Grissom regarded Sara, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"My hand and arm are going numb," she whispered in explanation.

Nodding his head in understanding, Grissom pulled their still joined hands to rest on his thigh.  Unlinking his fingers from hers, he began massaging the palm of her hand with his thumb.  After a few moments, his other hand went to work on her arm.  Concentration was etched on his face as he queried, "Better?"

Sara, whose eyes had not wavered from his face from the moment he took control of her arm, blinked.  Responding to the wonderful feeling that radiated from her hand and shot straight down to her toes and up to her head, she let out a small sigh, closed her eyes, and sat further back in her seat.

Grissom, a bit surprised by Sara's reaction, but enjoying it nonetheless, smirked.  "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

Sara's body was finally adjusting to the surge of whatever coursed through her veins at Grissom's continued ministrations when the disastrous result of André's attempt to transport himself was revealed to Helène and the audience for the first time.

As Helène repeatedly screamed in horror and the audience collectively gasped, groaned, and laughed, Grissom felt Sara's entire body shudder.

Concerned, he offered, "Why don't you put my jacket on?"

Pinning his eyes with her own, she replied, "I'm not cold."

Thinking it odd that Sara would shiver at the sight of André with a giant fly's head – this was a 1950's movie, after all – he tried to fix on the cause.  The look in Sara's eyes was all he needed to confirm that _he_, or more specifically, his hands rubbing up and down her arm, was the source of Sara's tremble.  It gave him a heady sense of satisfaction to know that he had this effect on her.  "Oh."

~*~*~

They had gone for ice cream after the movie, and laughed a great deal as they recapped and dissected it.  Now, sitting in Grissom's car outside Sara's apartment complex, they continued talking, reluctant to let the date end.  Sara wanted to ask him inside for a while, but worried Grissom might think she wanted more than she believed they were ready for just yet.  Grissom was relieved that Sara did not seem to want to move things into her apartment; he was afraid he would not want to leave.

Grissom took advantage of a lull in the conversation.  "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Did you tell me about the movie so that I would ask you out?"

Sara dropped her chin to hide the guilty look.  "Well, I really was going to see the movie anyway.  But, yeah, I brought it up hoping you'd at least show some interest in going with me."  Casting a sly glance in his direction, she asked, "I hope you don't feel like I manipulated you into this."

He thought for a moment before replying.  "I feel honored, and incredibly glad that you hadn't given up on me yet."

Giving him a full smile, she figured now was as good a time as any to quell her curiosity.  "My turn for a question.  Are you going to kiss me?"

"You mean today?  Or ever?"

When she lightly backhanded his chest in response, he grabbed her hand and kissed it, front and back.  "Has the feeling returned?"

"Wrong hand.  But yeah, it's fine, thanks."  She wriggled the fingers of her right hand to demonstrate.

He did not release her hand.  Neither spoke for a few moments, and when they did, it was simultaneously.

"Gris."

"Sara?"

They laughed, and Sara let him speak first.

"I want to do this again.  Go out, I mean.  I'd like to see what happens."

"I'd be honored and incredibly glad."  She winked at him.  "_Young Frankenstein_ is playing tomorrow."

"I was thinking maybe dinner."

"How about both?  I really love that movie."

"It's a date, then.  So what were you going to say?"

"I was just going to thank you for a wonderful time.  And tell you that I should probably get inside now." 

"Oh.  Okay."  Remembering he still had Sara's hand in his possession, he tugged on it to draw her closer to him as he leaned toward her.

They met in the middle, Sara's free hand on his cheek and his on her hip.  The kiss was just getting interesting when it ended.  The look on Sara's face when she pulled away struck panic in Grissom's heart.  "What is it?  Should I not have done that?  I'm sorry…I got carried away, I was just – "

"In an unscientific mood?"  She remained close to him, practically whispering in his ear.  "Me too.  But this…" she drew her thumb along the facial hair at his jaw line, "is irritating me.  Literally."  Pulling back farther to look him in the eyes, she smirked and continued, "I guess I've finally decided about the beard."

Grissom made a mental note to stop for a new razor and some shaving cream on the way home.

~*~*~

In her apartment a few minutes later, Sara could not wipe the smile from her face.  She and Grissom had gone out, held hands, kissed, and he wanted to "see what happens."   The afternoon had gone better than she imagined it would.  

She was relieved he had asked about her motives for mentioning the movie in his office that morning.  It served to assuage her guilt a bit for the bigger untruth she had told.  

Walking to her entertainment center, Sara searched out her own copy of _The Fly_.  She had always seen it as a cautionary tale of what can happen if you let your work get in the way of your life, and in fact had watched it the day before she asked Grissom out to dinner, for courage.  She saw both of their potential fates reflected in the story and hoped Grissom would too.  

While some might see her behavior as blatant manipulation, Sara preferred to think of it as planting a seed.  After all, it's not as if she could have guessed that he would think about the dangers of sacrificing love for work and ultimately decide to call and ask her out.  Her plan was that he would come to that conclusion _after seeing the movie.  Though the experiment did not turn out exactly as she had intended, all in all, Sara was quite pleased with herself. _

She would, however, admit that sticking that gum to the arm of Grissom's seat was a shameless act for which was deeply embarrassed.  

Sara grinned as she thought of all the ways she could make it up to him.     

Fin


End file.
